In the hills of California grows a shrub called toyon. It flowers in early summer and ripens its red berries in the winter, on its own time, not ours. When the berries are ready, the birds come, and carry its seeds to places the plant could never walk to.
We started there. Every place on Earth has a moment when it is most itself, and those moments don't keep a calendar. They arrive when they are ripe. So do we.
The berry on our mark shows where we've landed this time.